A Tale Of Two Shirts; Or Claire's Folly

I'll try again. I fucked up the first try. It was deleted because of a misplaced pinky finger. Son-of-a- bitch. Yes, I'm not in the best of moods. If you know me then you expect the filth and foul language that goes with it. Whether it be my mouth or fingers. Either way it comes from my brain. Sometimes my heart.

I'm such an idiot. No matter what I do; I'm a fucking idiot. Why do I think I won't look like an idiot this time? I poured my heart and soul into those fleece pullovers, which is the only way I know how to do anything worthwhile, and he gives them a passing glance. Oh, I'm told he really, really likes his handmade shirts, but I didn't find out about it for several weeks after the fact, from a third party, and only after having to go through that third party to get the information. What's wrong with this picture? Why do I never learn? I must add here that the person who was supposed to tell me when he got them and how he reacted was seriously distracted during this time for reasons I can understand. It wasn't personal, it was an honest faux pas. Regardless, it seems that the gods of giving and acknowledgment have conspired against me.

Why does anything I do never turn out the way I intended for it to? And no, I didn't intend for it to end with Phil and I falling into each other's arms then riding off into the sunset on his Harley. In addition to that, I must have looked like some crazy lady because when emailed Bonnie to see if she would make sure Phil opened his gift before he goes fishing in October, she replied saying, "hope this eases your mind." Eases my mind? I wasn't asking her to ease my mind. I just wanted to make sure the recipient received the package from the sender. And as an added bonus, I wanted to know that the recipient liked said packages. That's all. Nothing else. It makes me think she sees me as some desperate housewife who is trying to get as close to Phil as possible, or is begging for Phil's attention, or who thinks Phil will rescue her from the drugery of her life, or that I believe that Phil has all the answers in life to make me happy, or whatever, blah blah, blah, blah...... My god that pisses me off to no end!! Am I that difficult to understand? I'm a writer for god's sake. I'm supposed to be able to communicate effectively!! Not only that, look at my record on his sites. Is there anything there that even smacks of "obsession", "fanatic", or "mania?" I give up. Fuck it.

Maybe other people are like that, but for the umpteenth time, I'M NOT!!! My life is NOT a drugery, I know that only I have the answers for what will make my life worth living, I do not need to be rescued from anything! and if I did, I'm perfectly capeable of rescuing myself! I don't need anyone else to do that! And certainly not Captain Phil Harris!! I learned to tell the world to fuck off a long time ago. I can't count on anyone to rescue me anyway; because when push comes to shove baby, the world can be a cold, cold place. It's every man for himself.

What do I want? All I want to know is if it touched his heart. That's all. Nothing else. I put a whole lot of time and effort, not to mention my heart and soul, into creating those fleece pullover shirts - and I know that no one asked me to do it. But I just happened to think Phil's heart is worth it. Now I'm not so sure. He knows that these shirts are handmade, and all that that entails, and still he doesn't acknowledge that the shirts even exist, let alone that he likes them. Some people say, "Well, he's a man. What do you expect?" I've seen him recognize other things given to him. No, I don't want mine publicly recognized; and it seems that a private "thanks" would be easier. But then that's just me. And it seems that I've been wrong quite a bit, lately.

If what I read about Phil is true, and what I suspect by reading between the lines is true, he and I have quite a bit in common. Even though it doesn't look that way on the surface. I just wanted him to know that I understand. Validation. That's what this is all about. Even years later, validation is such a salve. I'm not going to go into it. But in reaching out, I exposed myself and I got burned. I knew it was a risk. And I took it. I offered something most people don't understand, and made a fool out of myself in the process. I don't think anyone was specifically picking on me. I don't feel like anyone lashed out at me. I just exposed my soul and no one noticed. Or maybe gave it a just a passing glance. That hurts just as bad as if they had stomped all over it. Now, once again, I have the opportunity to choose how I handle what I've been given. I can admit that I remain invisible. Again, I have no worth or value. Again I'm carted off to the ship of fools, and written off. A passing sound that the main characters barley notice then say, "Did you hear that?" Then with a shrug of the shoulders says, "No? Okay. Whatever." And that's the end of that.

Why does that sound so familiar? Why do I keep doing this in hopes of a different outcome? If I ever get the result I want then does it mean that I'm finally able to be an equal among human beings? I don't know. Sounds like it. But in this case I don't think so. I made those shirts as a result of newfound confidence and self-worth. Come on, before this I was afraid to try to put a zipper in somthing I was making. Isn't that silly? But there it is. And I must say that the zippers in Phil's pullovers look fabulous. If I do say so myself. I'm a giver by nature. And if I stop being a giver I'll die inside. When I give to others, I give to myself. It's food for my soul. And what good is it go give to somone something that doesn't touch their heart? To do less is the same as saying, "I'm doing this only because I have to or it's expected of me and I don't think very much of you and I'm really doing this for show, not because you mean anything to me." I don't know about other people, but if I give you something, it means that I think you have worth and importance in this world. That's why I like Christmas so much. To me Christmas is all about giving, not getting. But alas, I've strayed from the subject.

No matter what I mean to anyone, I have to mean something to me first. I'm trying to teach my kids that. And for them to absorb that lesson, I have to do it myself. Kids don't do what you say, they do what you do. If not I'll have Denise climbing on my back, reaching around and forcing my head up yelling at me that she's not going to let me go down for the count. She can't save me, only I can. But goddamnit she's not going to just sit there and let it happen. She'll kick my ass until I stand up straight too. LOL! That creates quite a picture doesn't it? And the fact that we're both middle aged women makes it really funny too. It's nice to have someone who believes in you. Actually, it's as good as finding gold. Only a real friend would do such a thing. She doesn't think it's all over yet. And she can think that. But I'm not. I'm not going there again. If Phil wants my attention, he'll have to come and get it himself. And we all know that that isn't going to happen. And if it does, I'm buying a lottery ticket.

I said earlier that I don't want to be publicly recognized for anything I've done for Phil. And I don't. I don't want pictures of my gifts for him put on his website. I just want to know that my labor, and the fruits thereof, have touched his heart, and maybe even healed a bit of it too. That's why I did it all. From one kid to another. That and that alone.